of smoke spirals rose skywards. The immediate impression was of a shanty town.
The first villagers to notice them paused long enough to register that they were foreigners and then went back to harvesting beans in the fields at either side of the track. The children reacted with more liveliness. They cheered, gathering around the two Americans as they entered the village.The kids’ grubby little hands, as filthy as their bare feet, tugged at the men’s clothes. The soldier made a useless attempt to shoo them away but soon gave up when he realised that Jacobs was enjoying the attention. Instead he approached one of the local adults in order to ask for directions.
Jacobs tried to engage the children in conversation, asking their names and using sweets to tempt any of them who came forward. Harris didn’t mind since it kept them away from him.
The soldier thanked the villager and beckoned Harris to follow him.
‘Jacobs - let’s go,’ Harris called out as the soldier headed for a narrow path between some huts.
Jacobs dealt out the last of his sweets and hurried to catch up.
The track wound steeply uphill between dilapidated dwellings. Some children followed but as the path became steeper they ran back down noisily, leaving the group alone.
The path reached the summit where it levelled off and the houses gave way to a small wood where it was noticeably cooler. The small group came to a stony clearing in the centre which was occupied by a handful of goats and scrawny chickens. The soldier stopped and pointed to the far side.
A solitary hut stood there, its wooden porch shaded by a bright green awning that flapped easily in the breeze.
The sky had darkened and Harris decided that a cloudburst was imminent. He approached the hut.
Clay flowerpots dotted the porch and windowsills, brightening the otherwise drab surroundings. An old Indian sat to one side of the front door on a low wooden stool. He was clearly absorbed in some task and did not look up at them.
The soldier plonked himself down beneath a tree, his mission completed - this part of it, at least. He took a roll of magnolia leaves from a small sack and unfolded them. Inside were several maize pupusas filled with pinto beans, which he tucked into.
The old Indian looked different from the locals they had encountered so far, as if he were not from the region. His frame was larger and he was far more powerfully built. His facial features were broad, his hands and bare feet wider. He was peeling calabazas and using his toes to hold the small pumpkin-like vegetables while he pared them with a knife. Harris realised the man was using his feet because he had only one arm. He wondered if the man had other handicaps: he appeared to be unaware of the two strangers now standing in front of him.
Harris removed his pack, took out a waterproof folder and examined a photograph of a man. He was pretty sure the Indian wasn’t who he had come to see but he wanted to be certain.
‘Por favor,’ Harris said after clearing his throat, wondering if the man might be deaf.
The Indian paused and looked up at him with hound-dog eyes, as if waiting tiredly for Harris to continue.
‘I’m looking for François Laporte.’
The Indian stared at Harris blankly as though he had not understood a word.
‘Fran-çois La-porte?’ Harris repeated, emphasising each syllable.
The Indian put down his knife and got to his feet. He turned his broad back on the two men, opened the front door and went inside the hut.
Mumbled words came from inside and a moment later the Indian returned, leaving the door slightly ajar. He sat back down on his stool and picked up his knife.
Jacobs stepped closer to Harris. Both men craned to look through the small opening but it was too dark inside to make anything out. There was movement and a second later a man stepped into the doorway.
At first glance he appeared to be quite old, a slight stoop adding to the impression. On seeing the two men he straightened up and regarded the strangers with squinting eyes. It was more an expression of curiosity than a reaction to the light.
Harris recognised him immediately as the man in the photograph, although his skin was darker and his features were craggier. The date of birth in the file gave the man’s age as forty-six but he looked ten years older. His face was scarred in places, old scars,